Iíve been wondering
why I have the compulsion
to breakdown in midnight tears
when there is optimism on my tongue
and new breath in my lungs

I touch the glass
but I donít feel a thing
and my reflection is just a mime
with a face and body
that could be mine

And thereís a bird in my throat
thatís lost the key to the spoken word
bound and gagged
lying on the floor of its own denial
that everything is okay
hoping that if it just lies still long enough
this daydream will end
and we can speak again

Thereís a sadness in my head
listening to a funeral of hearts
that beats imaginary heart beats
because no one gets to come inside
my shattered playhouse
and rebuild the walls of tinted glass
because I donít know how to be transparent

© Indie Adams 2014
Written by Indie (Miss Indie)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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